


no drug like me

by PeppyBismilk



Series: burn one down [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brief Caspar von Bergliez/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Communication, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Minor Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24047386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk
Summary: Linhardt didn't have a crush on his best friend until—BANG—he fell in love or lust (or something like that). Too bad Caspar was banging someone else.Or, Linhardt catches feelings for Caspar and tries to get some space to process them. Caspar gets some weed.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Series: burn one down [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734724
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	1. worried eyes

**Author's Note:**

> this is a companion fic to [left hand suzuki method](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22908190/) but they happen concurrently, so you won’t miss anything if you haven't read it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt catches feelings.

It started with a bang.

A big one, so loud Linhardt jumped in his desk chair. It wasn’t unusual for noises to come from Felix’s room; he worked out in there. Linhardt couldn’t imagine wanting to work out at all, let alone in his bedroom, but Felix was a strange man with a room full of barbells and other heavy things.

Linhardt heaved a sigh. He supposed he should check on Felix, at least to make sure he wasn’t dead in there.

Dragging himself out of his chair, Linhardt made his way to his door, then through the hall to Felix’s room. 

“Felix? You all right?” he said from outside the door. 

Shuffling. No reply. Linhardt groaned. Resigned, he pushed the door open. 

Linhardt’s mouth went dry. Someone was dying all right, but it wasn’t Felix.

Caspar von Bergliez, also known as Linhardt’s  _ very best friend, _ was there, but he wasn’t dying, either—far from it. He was ecstatic, half naked and radiant in rapture, bent over the weight rack and facing the door. Had he always looked this enticing? Tank top stretched tight over razor sharp shoulder blades, hollowed out clavicles deep enough for Linhardt to stick his fingers into… And that was to say nothing of his lower body. How were his shorts not cutting off his circulation? The elastic could barely contain those bulging thighs of his, and were it not for the huge barbell obscuring Caspar, Linhardt would have been able to see  _ everything. _

The only thing wrong with the picture was Felix, also known as Linhardt’s  _ roommate, _ jackhammering into Caspar from behind.

Linhardt felt faint, as if all of his blood had abandoned his body. This was one problem that a nap wouldn’t fix. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. He wished this was a nightmare, that he just needed someone to shake him awake and it would be over. 

What had gotten into him? It wasn’t like  _ he _ wanted to be the one pile-driving Caspar. Moreover, jealousy didn’t suit Linhardt at all; he was above such petty, outdated concepts. 

So why did the sight of his Caspar ( _his Caspar?!_ ) getting pleasured by someone else turn his stomach?

He needed to leave, to stop looking, but his feet had turned to lead. Was he a voyeur now? Was this some sort of latent fetish? But fetishes didn’t make it hard to breathe (unless that was the fetish), and the growing lump in the back of Linhardt’s throat was decidedly unsexy. 

Then Caspar— _his_ Caspar—opened his crystal blue eyes and screamed, “Linhardt!” 

That wasn’t how Linhardt wanted Caspar to say his name at all. 

Felix’s eyes snapped open in horror as the two of them broke apart. “What the hell?!” he demanded, yanking his pants up. 

“It’s not what you think!” Caspar stammered as he tugged his shorts to his waist.

But how could it be anything else? Linhardt couldn’t even summon an excuse or an apology; he just stumbled back into the hallway, all the way to the front closet and into his shoes. 

“Lin!” Caspar was yelling. “It’s not like that! Wait, please!” 

But his words didn’t register. Linhardt needed to process what he had just seen, and he needed to do that alone. He left the apartment and walked as far as his feet would carry him, which left him in the campus library. At least it was familiar territory.

Only when he got there did he realize he had forgotten his wallet, his keys, and his phone. 

What was wrong with him? His heart was pounding, perhaps from the exercise, but still. Jealousy had made him _run_ —what was the world coming to?

The scene kept replaying in his head: Felix ramming into Caspar at breakneck speed and Caspar looking positively thrilled about it. 

Linhardt had tried sex once, for science, but he didn’t see what the fuss was all about. It was unnecessary exertion, and (much like jogging) it left him sweaty and wanting a shower.

But Caspar made it look wonderful. Like something that might be worth the effort. Curiosity and pain tangled within Linhardt, and none of the books that surrounded him contained the answer. A particularly soft-looking chair called his name, and he slumped into it, but he couldn’t sleep with his mind racing like this.

Where had all of these feelings come from? Caspar was his favorite person in the world. The one person who was always tolerable. His best friend.

_ His _ Caspar. 

_ Ugh. _ His sudden possessive streak curdled the contents of his stomach. Caspar belonged to no one—not to Felix and certainly not to Linhardt.

Was he worried that Felix would monopolize his best friend? Maybe Felix was simply tired of lusting after his own best friend and had decided to move on to someone else’s. Linhardt had been subjected to too many tension-filled nights of Felix and Sylvain curled up on the couch together “watching movies,” practically grinding on each other but always parting ways at the end of the night, leaving everyone unsatisfied. 

Was that how best friends were supposed to act? Linhardt had never really thought about it before, but he wouldn’t mind having Caspar on his lap, or napping in Caspar’s arms. Was that normal?

Thinking about cuddling with Caspar made his chest warm. It was a much better feeling than anything else he’d experienced tonight, so he focused on it, let it envelop him, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up to the hustle and bustle of students around him.

He’d spent the night in the library. Well, it wasn't the first time.

Then, memories of the night before, of what he’d seen, kicked him in the teeth. Or at least, Linhardt imagined it was what getting kicked in the teeth felt like; he’d never been in a fight.

The only people he could ask were Caspar and Felix, and he didn’t want to talk to either of them right now. But he did need to take a shower and collect his books for class, so he had to go home.

The walk was torture. Not just because of the physical effort it required, but because all he could think about was Felix and Caspar curled up in Felix’s bed together. Snuggling. 

By the time he got home, the lump in his throat was back but Caspar was gone. Felix let him in with a scarlet face and an awkward silence. Linhardt didn’t make eye contact as he retreated to his room to grab a change of clothes, then locked himself in the bathroom. 

The water in their shower never got hot enough, and today he wanted it scorching, as if it might burn the image out of his brain. Linhardt washed his hair and body in an unthinking, unfeeling haze, letting the water run over his shoulders long after the last of the soap went down the drain. 

He and Felix didn’t speak before Linhardt left for classes, either. He had eight texts, five missed calls, and two voicemails from Caspar, but he couldn’t bring himself to check them. 

He couldn’t bring himself to pay attention in class, either. It shouldn’t have bothered him. Caspar having an active, happy, and safe (Linhardt had seen the evidence) sex life was an objectively good thing, like reading a good book or taking a nap. Linhardt and Caspar just wanted different things out of life; that was why they worked so well as friends. 

_ Friends. _ Linhardt let the word swirl unsaid in his mouth, then swallowed it down. Images of Caspar’s body drifted through his mind: back arched, rear end high in the air, mouth hanging wide open. What if it had been Linhardt’s hand and not Felix’s on his shoulder? Him, not Felix, deep inside Caspar? Perhaps not slamming—that sounded like a lot of work—but rocking into him. Slower. 

Something to think about. 

Not everyone needed or wanted sex. That was fine. But maybe with the right person, Linhardt wouldn’t mind it. 

The more the thought about it, the sillier Felix and Caspar seemed together. They weren’t right for each other at all. Too hot-headed, the both of them. Caspar needed a calming force, someone to pull him back before he jumped too far. Like when Linhardt has talked him out of attempting rails the first day he got his skateboard (or when Linhardt patched him up when he tried them a week later). Felix would never be patient with Caspar. 

They were probably just scratching an itch together. People did that, from what Linhardt had read, and he couldn’t be mad at either of them. Especially not when it was his own fault for walking in on them. 

But if it was just an itch, Linhardt couldn’t help but wonder why Caspar had never asked  _ him _ to help out. They were best friends, after all. When Linhardt had gotten intoxicated (also for science), who held his hair back while he vomited on the sidewalk? Caspar. Who had busted Linhardt out of the biology building the time he’d fallen asleep in the lab? Caspar. And Linhardt couldn’t even recall how many times he’d pulled Caspar’s hand or foot out of somewhere it had gotten stuck. They’d seen each other in plenty of compromising positions, and Caspar wasn’t subtle. Surely, if Caspar had any interest, he would have just asked. 

So he didn’t, and that was that. 

After class, Linhardt would fix this. He would apologize to Caspar first, then Felix. They’d put this mess behind them and everything would go back to normal. Eventually, Linhardt’s chest wouldn’t ache at the thought of Caspar with Felix (or someone else). 

Probably.

Proving just how unsubtle he was, Caspar found Linhardt first, pouncing on him the moment he emerged from the Language Arts building.

“There you are! I was so worried about you. You wouldn’t answer your phone! I mean, that’s not that weird, but I couldn’t just leave it like that, you know?” Caspar said it all in one breath. “I’m so sorry, Lin. I can explain.”

“There’s no need,” said Linhardt. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. I heard a crash and thought to investigate, but I was mistaken. You did nothing wrong.”

“Oh yeah, we did knock a weight off the rack.” Caspar rubbed his neck and laughed, even though his words stung. If Caspar liked it that rough, there was no way he was sexually compatible with Linhardt. “We didn’t know you were home, and I just want you to know it didn’t mean anything.”

“You don’t have to explain,” said Linhardt. He knew enough. “You don’t need to inform me of your sexual habits, either. It’s got nothing to do with me as long as you’re happy.”

Caspar blinked a few times. That meant he was thinking. “Right,” he finally said. “You don’t care about that stuff.”

There wasn’t even a whiff of judgment in his tone, but Linhardt’s chest tightened anyway.

“Still,” Caspar said, “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“Consider it forgotten.” Lying to Caspar only made Linhardt feel worse. 

“So,” Caspar trailed off, breaking into a hopeful smile that squeezed Linhardt’s heart even tighter. “We’re good?”

“Of course we are,” said Linhardt. And he meant it. He wasn’t sure about himself, but he was as sure about Caspar as he’d ever been.

“Okay!” An awkward little laugh bubbled of Caspar, and he reached out to squeeze Linhardt’s bare forearm. Caspar didn’t usually touch him, and it left his skin tingling. 

“Okay,” Linhardt echoed. He stared at Caspar’s hand until Caspar drew it back. “I have to go to class.”

“Okay,” said Caspar again, perhaps for good measure. He shook his head like a wet puppy. “I mean, me too. So, um, see you later!” 

But Linhardt didn’t leave for his next class until he couldn’t see Caspar’s figure in the distance. 

When he got back to the apartment, Felix was already there, cooking. 

“Linhardt,” he called. Linhardt hadn’t even gotten his shoes off. “I’m sorry.”

Had Felix ever apologized to him before? It was a shame that Linhardt couldn’t mark the occasion; Felix hadn’t done anything wrong. “Why? It was my fault. I’m sorry for walking in on you, and I assure you, it will never happen again.”

“We’re roommates. Shit happens,” said Felix. “But if I had known, I never would have gone through with it, okay?” 

“Known?” Linhardt frowned. “Known what?”

Ground beef sizzled in the pan and Felix’s brow wrinkled. “That it would upset you.” 

“I’m not upset,” Linhardt replied. And he wasn’t, at least not anymore. “I was merely surprised. Don’t hold back—certainly not on my account.”

“You’re not upset?” Felix almost sounded mad about it, although mad was his default reaction. “But I thought you—you know what? Never mind. I’m staying out of it.”

_ Little late for that,  _ Linhardt thought as Felix went back to cooking. If Felix had stayed out of it, Linhardt wouldn’t be in this mess. He’d be able to study without visions of a half-naked Caspar floating through his brain every few minutes. 

But as it was, his psychology paper wasn’t getting written, and every time he thought of Caspar, it got a little harder to ignore what was transpiring between his legs. 

“Ugh,” he muttered. This didn’t happen often, but it always struck at the most inopportune times. There was nothing to be done but to take care of it. 

Normally, all it took was the right speed and pressure, combined with a little salacious imagery from books he’d read, but his mind had other ideas today. 

Actually, just the one. 

Caspar. Last summer. At his parents’ cabin. Linhardt hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but his brain was digging deeper now, coloring older memories with his new discoveries. 

Linhardt had been sprawled out on an inflatable octopus of all things, tethered to the dock for a floating nap. A perfectly placed weeping willow blocked the offending afternoon sun, and Caspar’s little cousins were passed out in the lake house for their own naps. It was perfect.

Enter Caspar. He crept up the dock, quiet as a ghost, then crooned, “Hey, Lin.”

Linhardt cracked one eye open and got a face full of blue: eyes, hair, swimsuit. Caspar launched himself off the dock, landing squarely on top of Linhardt with a  _ splash. _ Somehow, they didn’t topple—Caspar hit his lap dead center, legs dangling into the water on either side of the octopus. He’d laughed his head off and Linhardt had chewed him out, heart pounding from shock. 

But that memory looked a bit different now. Water dripped down the ridges of Caspar’s bare chest as he straddled Linhardt, heart racing not because he was surprised but because Caspar were so close. Cold water and Caspar’s warmth conspired to awaken every nerve in his body, and Linhardt felt even the smallest movements, every shift of fabric between them as Caspar began to roll his hips.

Now that was a fantasy Linhardt could lose himself in—one that didn’t involve Felix or jackhammer sex, just Caspar and Linhardt rubbing their bodies together in a slow crescendo until Linhardt reached his own. 

Weighed down by his orgasm and what it meant, Linhardt slumped in his chair. Though he’d quelled his arousal for now, it seemed this crush on Caspar wasn’t going away. He’d never mastrubated to anyone specific before, only abstract concepts and bodies. Picturing Caspar made for a more intense experience to say the least. It merited further study, except…

Except it was Caspar. Anyone else and Linhardt would have gotten to work plotting elaborate scenarios just to see how high he could get, but Caspar wasn’t just anyone.

That was the real problem, wasn’t it? Not Felix. Not Caspar, either, not really. It was the way Linhardt felt about him. No one else got his blood thundering, no one else made him want to touch himself, and no one else made him jealous, ever. 

And now he’d lied to Caspar again. Linhardt said they were fine, but he was going to have to relearn how to act around his best friend. 

A test. It called for a test. 

He texted Caspar about hanging out the next day. In a neutral location—lunch in the student union rather than either of their apartments. Just Caspar’s eager response was enough to make his heart pound again. Caspar was always excited to see him, but not the way Linhardt was excited now. Not breathless and hot all over. Just normal Caspar. Wonderful, supportive, Caspar, the brightest spot of every day. The only person worth waking up for.

It wasn’t going to end well.

Lunch certainly didn’t. From the first touch of scorching sun, Linhardt knew he was in trouble. Caspar showed up in  _ that _ tank top, so tight it might rip at any second. Linhardt could scarcely keep his eyes on his best friend’s face. 

“Wow, Lin, you’re even more out of it than usual,” Caspar remarked.

Linhardt blinked and shook himself alert. He had barely touched his lunch and Caspar was already done eating. 

“Sorry, I was up late. Studying.” Definitely not fantasizing. He added a yawn for good measure. 

“Again? That’s it.” Caspar whipped out his phone. “I’m gonna call you every night and make you go to bed.”

“Even my parents don’t care that much,” said Linhardt, stomping down the urge to ask exactly how Caspar would make him sleep. Would he talk to Linhardt in a low, soothing voice? Would he tell Linhardt what to do, where to touch himself? Where to touch _him?_

Linhardt shuddered and closed his eyes. This was totally out of hand. He hated holding back, but he couldn’t do this to Caspar. It wasn’t fair when Caspar wasn’t interested.

“Maybe you should go take a nap. I know you don’t have class for a couple hours.” Concern seeped from Caspar’s voice, making Linhardt feel even guiltier. Caspar was worried about him. This test was an abysmal failure, flawed from the start. 

What Linhardt needed was time away, time to clear his head and let this attraction pass. “You’re right. I think I’m going to go do just that.”

“I can walk you back,” Caspar offered. “Make sure you really get to bed. I know you, Lin. No books.” 

Linhardt shivered. If Caspar tucked him in, he’d never sleep. “No books, I promise.” 

Caspar looked skeptical. “All right,” he said. “But if I find out you didn’t sleep, I’m going to sit on you until you do!”

Linhardt would never sleep again. Now that was a terrifying prospect. 

“That won’t be necessary, I assure you.” He stood up. “Goodbye, Caspar.” 

And for a second, the pout on Caspar’s face made him pause, but then Caspar said, “Are you going to eat your lunch?”

Of course that was what he was worried about. Linhardt sighed and forced a smile. “What’s mine is yours.”

Caspar smiled back and grabbed his tray. “See you soon!” 

Linhardt couldn’t bring himself to lie again, so he left without another word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to creepikat, who mentioned wanting to read about what had happened between linhardt and caspar during left hand suzuki method. hope you enjoy it!
> 
> chapter 2 (and weed) coming soon! story and chapter titles come from no drug like me by carly rae jepsen because i am predictable.
> 
> now with a [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/56isrSbFYSEYv00QPxKzKF?si=VRhKqR5dTRqzR_2Kuc7p7w)


	2. i'm open wide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caspar is persistent (and full of good ideas).

More than a week went by. It was the longest Linhardt had gone without seeing Caspar in years. Linhardt answered his calls and texts but pretended to be too absorbed in his research projects to hang out. That wasn’t too much of a stretch. Without his supplemental reading in endocrinology, he never would have made it through. 

But all his studies proved useless in stomping out his attraction to Caspar. Understanding just how arousal worked and why his brain kept bombarding him with sexual fantasies about Caspar did nothing to stop them (or Linhardt) from coming. 

Whenever Linhardt thought about his future, the only given was Caspar. Planning was pointless; nothing appealed to Linhardt more than the unexpected. But the prospect of losing Caspar to something so irrelevant as incompatible sexual desires threw him—the worst twist he never saw coming.

More than anything, he missed his best friend. Without Caspar, it was hard to make himself do anything but sleep, read, and study. Perhaps codependency was the root of his problem. He saw it in Felix and Sylvain: they scarcely spent a moment apart. Tonight, in fact, they were going to a party together. Linhardt had, of course, declined. He spent enough time as their third wheel as it was, and watching them undress each other with their eyes just made him hornier.

Another unforeseen development. Linhardt was beginning to lose his taste for surprises.

So when his doorbell went off unexpectedly, his heart sank. He’d finally gotten absorbed in the book he was reading, and he would have ignored the door were it not for text he got right after.

From Caspar.

_ OPEN UP!!! YOU CANT KEEP IGNORING ME!!! _

Caught. Linhardt marked his place in the book and headed for the door to buzz Caspar inside. The hair on his arms stood on end but he ignored the goosebumps. 

When he opened the door, Caspar was already there, he was wearing his backpack, and he looked mad. 

“Do you need help with your homework?” Linhardt asked, feeling guilty about how weary he sounded.

“You don’t have class tomorrow.” Caspar glared at Linhardt and pushed his way inside. “You are going to stop whatever you’re doing and let Caspar help you relax.” 

“What?!” Linhardt’s eyes went wide, even wider when Caspar broke into a grin and slipped off his backpack. What did he have in there? Oil? A personal massager? Linhardt gaped as Caspar pulled out a tiny plastic bag stuffed with something green—definitely not tea—and a book of rolling papers. The tension snapped and Linhardt almost laughed out loud. Of course Caspar wasn’t offering to massage him or anything like that. He wanted to get high. 

“What did you think I meant?” Caspar asked. He kicked his shoes off, smile never faltering. 

Linhardt pretended he didn’t hear the question. “Fine, I’ll smoke with you.”

“Awesome!” With a triumphant pump of his fist, Caspar grabbed Linhardt by the hand and dragged him back to his room. Caspar got right to work, rolling a joint fatter than either of them could handle alone. So they’d be sharing it. It wouldn’t be the first time, but now Linhardt’s heart quickened at the thought of all those indirect kisses. He busied himself with opening the window and taking a deep breath before turning back to find Caspar admiring his handiwork. He fished around in his backpack and pulled out a lighter. 

“Hold on.” Linhardt took the lighter from Caspar, careful not to linger on his warm hands. “Don’t want you lighting my apartment on fire.” 

“I wouldn’t!” 

But Caspar was better at rolling than he was at lighting, so Linhardt did the honors. He held the joint out for Caspar to take, but Caspar just leaned forward and took a puff right out of Linhardt’s hand. Linhardt froze. Having Caspar’s lips so close to his skin felt too intimate. Beyond friendly. He let the joint burn until Caspar nodded at him. Right. He was wasting weed. He tapped the blunt into the jar Caspar had brought and took a hit, closing his eyes to try to clear his head.

It didn’t work. All he could see was Caspar’s face coming closer, kissing his hand instead of smoking, and he forced his eyes open. Caspar was staring right at him. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” said Caspar. He was pouting again, and Linhardt took another puff.

Blowing smoke away from Caspar’s face, Linhardt passed him the blunt and said, “I’ve been busy.” 

The edges of his nerves softened as the drug took hold, but it didn’t make lying any easier. 

Caspar took another hit. Relaxation slowed his words and smoke lowered his voice. “Bullshit. Edelgard told me you skipped study group and office hours this week because you were already done with the assignment.”

What a snitch. Linhardt took the joint and nodded toward his book-laden desk. “I’ve been conducting independent research.”

“Yeah,” said Caspar. “To avoid me.”

There was no getting out of that one, so Linhardt took a drag. He was going to end up totally baked, but maybe it was for the best. This conversation would be harder to navigate sober.

“You’ve been weird ever since the thing with Felix.”

Oh, Linhardt definitely needed another hit before he went there.

“It’s not that.” Linhardt sighed the words into his smoke cloud. “It’s not you.”

Caspar shook his head. “Would you please just let me explain? I think you’re going to want to hear it.” 

“I doubt it,” said Linhardt, but he waved Caspar on anyway. At least it was fun to watch him talk. Cyan, Linhardt thought, was his favorite color. Like the sky, only brighter. Electrified. 

“Me and Felix…” Caspar took a deep breath and one more puff. “We have a lot in common.”

Same height, same unhealthy obsession with fitness, same breakneck fucking rhythm… Linhardt pressed his lips together to keep himself silent. 

Looking straight ahead, Caspar said, “We’re both in love with our best friends and have no idea what to do about it.” 

The coughing fit that overtook Linhardt had nothing to do with the smoke. “What?!”

“We were both feeling bored and sorry for ourselves, so we decided to bang, that’s it! But all I could think about was how I wished he was you, and I’m sure he was thinking about Sylvain, and—”

“Hold on.” Linhardt put up a hand to give his brain a chance to catch up with Caspar’s rapidfire speech. “You were thinking of me?”

“Yeah!” Caspar said it like it was the most obvious thing in the word. “I think of you every time I have sex! Not that I have a lot of sex, but when I do, I can’t get off unless I’m thinking about you!” 

The words didn’t compute, and Linhardt was starting to regret lighting up at all, let alone inhaling as much as he had. His brain was all he had and it was slipping away from him, plummeting into a void that smelled and looked and sounded like Caspar, but it couldn’t be him because it was in love with him and fantasized about him…

“But it doesn’t matter, because—” Caspar choked on some smoke mid-sentence and Linhardt lunged at him. He intended to pat Caspar’s back, but they toppled to the floor together, winding up with Linhardt’s arms braced on either side of Caspar, who was flat on his back. Now they were both coughing. 

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Linhardt gasped out between coughs. 

“Because I love you but you’re not interested and I don’t want you to feel guilty.” Caspar rolled his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you! That’s not why I came here! Your friendship means everything to me. I really do love you, Lin. Exactly the way you are. Always.”

Linhardt’s head was spinning, or maybe Caspar was spinning. His eyes were so blue, so much bluer than Linhardt’s own, and his lips were pillowy thick. Linhardt  _ loved  _ pillows. If he fell on Caspar, would he bounce? Off his mouth? Off his pectoral muscles? 

No, no, what had they been talking about? Weed was bad, because Caspar had just told him something important and Linhardt’s memory was worthless.

It kept dragging up memories of Caspar, flat on Linhardt’s floor after running an unfathomable distance, drenched in sweat and panting. 

Linhardt pushed some of Caspar’s hair out of his eyes. Had Caspar always been this beautiful? Or was he simply more beautiful now that Linhardt knew he loved him? 

“I love you,” he told Caspar. “I love you as a friend and I love thinking about you naked.” The words coming out of his mouth didn’t make sense, but he kept saying them. 

“I love you in a sexual way,” Linhardt tried again. “It’s new. I’m still getting used to it, but I like it.”

A lock of Linhardt’s hair fell into Caspar’s open mouth. Caspar spit it out and kept right on spluttering. He looked ridiculous, and this was not how Linhardt wanted to engage with Caspar’s saliva. 

Not when he had so many better ideas. “Caspar.”

“Wha—you—we—yeah?”

So ridiculous, his Caspar. Linhardt smiled down at him.

“May I kiss you?” 

Caspar’s mouth snapped shut, but his eyes stayed wide open. His eager nod was another kind of high, and Linhardt leaned down, his hair surrounding them like a privacy curtain. Who needed light when Caspar’s eyes were phosphorescent? They drew Linhardt in like a beacon, or an anglerfish. Ensnared and utterly willing, he pressed his lips to Caspar’s.

Thoughts filtered into his brain, directly from Caspar’s, transmitted by mouth. There was no other possible explanation for the emotions soaring through Linhardt, the constant stream of  _ WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA.  _ Could Caspar hear his thoughts? What did they sound like? He didn’t even care if he was coherent; they were probably just  _ mine, mine, all mine  _ or some other possessive nonsense that Linhardt was absolutely going to work on when he was sober again. But now, he was high and he was going to kiss his Caspar until they touched the clouds.

Every tiny crease on Caspar’s lips folded into his own, the little cut on his bottom lip, bright and metallic on Linhardt’s tongue because Caspar lost his chapstick again. Caspar tried to count his teeth, all the way to the ones in the back, even though he had been there for Linhardt’s wisdom teeth removal. Which felt a little like this, only then he'd been lying with his head in Caspar’s lap, losing himself in cerulean eyes, sleeping off the meds in the most comfortable spot in the world. 

_ mine, mine, all mine… _

And here he was in Caspar’s lap again, only this time Caspar wasn’t a soft place for his head but hard beneath his hips. Linhardt was hard, too, and he felt every millimeter of their steady drag. If it was too slow for Caspar, he wasn’t complaining, unless Linhardt was misinterpreting those gasps in his ear, the breaths ruffling his hair as he sucked greedy little bruises into Caspar’s neck. 

Caspar’s hands on his hips, Caspar’s teeth on his ear, Caspar’s stomach below his where their shirts had ridden up, Caspar’s face beneath his hair...it was so hot, burning, stifling, and Linhardt threw his head back to shake his hair free. When he reached for the hem of his shirt, he saw the smoke. 

Caspar did too. He pointed at the trash can.

“FIRE!”

Linhardt jumped to his feet. Flames, small but terrifying, burned inside the bin. He knew about fires. Fires needed three things: fuel, an ignition source, and oxygen. Cutting off the oxygen would kill the fire! Linhardt darted around the room, looking for something—anything—to use as a lid. But all he had were books and he couldn’t burn a book. Maybe a textbook?

Thank goodness for Caspar. He snatched a half-full glass of water from Linhardt’s desk and dumped it into the trash can. 

They stood over the wreckage, watching the smoke taper off. One soaked, mostly used joint sat on a top of a pile of soaked, singed, thoroughly used tissues. 

“You’re a lifesaver, Caspar,” said Linhardt. He was a little embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of it, but watching Caspar be the hero made it all worth it. 

“It was nothing!” Caspar only puffed up his chest for a second before letting the air out in a nervous laugh. “Besides, uh, I think I tossed it in there when you knocked me over.”

“Still, your cool head saved the day.” How long had they been making out, unknowingly letting the fire build? Linhardt scratched his chin and added, “It’s a good thing those tissues were wet, otherwise the fire might have melted the trash can.”

“Wet?” Caspar tilted his head, then his eyes went wide with concern. “Oh no, are you sick?”

Sweet Caspar. Linhardt patted his cheek. “Lovesick, perhaps.” 

“Does that give you a runny nose?” Caspar wondered. “Like allergies?”

“Caspar…” 

Caspar’s mouth rounded into a tiny “O” the moment it clicked. “Holy shit, Lin, did you jerk off before I came over? Were you thinking about me?”

That was the beauty of Caspar: he always came through, but he was also the last one to get every joke. Linhardt shuddered with the sudden urge to rip his clothes off and tackle him to the bed. The weed must have been potent; Linhardt felt like a different person. Surely, he’d still want to climb Caspar once it wore off, but in his mind’s eye, his hips moved like a rabbit’s. Just thinking about it made him dizzy. 

But maybe the fire was for the best. He wasn’t in his right mind and he desperately wanted to be. He turned to Caspar to tell him so, but Caspar’s eyes were drifting toward the door. 

Proving his mettle again, Caspar turned to Linhardt and asked, “You got any food?”

Food sounded amazing.

They raided Felix’s chili cheese corn chips (though Linhardt was pretty sure they were actually Sylvain’s) and ended up watching a movie on the couch, Caspar grinding lazily on Linhardt’s lap. It didn’t go beyond the occasional wet kiss, and neither seemed intent on pushing it further.

Before long, Caspar was nudging Linhardt awake. The thrill of being swept up in his solid arms never got old, and Linhardt burrowed into Caspar’s chest and let himself be carried to the bedroom. The neck of Caspar’s shirt had caught some chip crumbs, and Linhardt licked them up. Salty, both the crumbs and his skin. 

Caspar tucked Linhardt into bed, pulling the covers up to his shoulders. Gently, he patted Linhardt’s chest. Lingering. Hesitating. 

“Stay,” Linhardt murmured. “Stay with me.”

It didn’t take much convincing. Caspar whipped off his shirt and climbed into bed next to Linhardt. After a few more dreamy kisses, they fell asleep curled together.

When Linhardt woke up in a puddle of chili cheese chip drool on Caspar’s sweaty nipple, he wondered, for a moment, if he was still high. But no, he was sober and he was filthy. He extracted himself from Caspar’s arms, heart clenching as Caspar curled in on himself but kept sleeping. A shiver traveled down Linhardt’s spine, from both the overwhelming rush of love and the chill of leaving the comfort of the warmest blanket he’d ever had. Knowing he’d have it again, and soon, made up for the loss. 

He stole away to the bathroom, noting Felix’s closed door (he must have gotten home after Linhardt and Caspar had gone to bed), and showered quickly. Felix still hadn’t gotten up by the time Linhardt was done. Strange—the guy was an obnoxiously early riser. Maybe his party had gotten wild. Good. Felix needed to loosen up. 

Linhardt put it out of his mind and snuck back into his room, but his caution was unnecessary. Caspar was sitting up in bed, still shirtless, phone in hand.

“Lin!” Caspar looked up the moment Linhardt walked in. “I missed you!”

It was so earnest (and reciprocated), Linhardt couldn’t even pretend to be patronizing. “So did I, actually.” 

Caspar’s eyes drifted from Linhardt’s face to where his towel was wrapped around his hips. “I bet you smell amazing.”

“Hmm…” Linhardt shut the door behind him, never looking away from Caspar. With a nudge, he loosened his towel and let it fall to the floor. Caspar swallowed.

Slowly, eyes trained on Caspar’s widening pupils, Linhardt approached the bed. Was he sexy? Maybe? Caspar certainly seemed to think so, and that was what mattered.

“Cas…” Linhardt crawled onto the bed, closer, closer, until he was close enough to taste Caspar’s stale weed breath. 

“Y-yeah?”

Linhardt turned his head to the side, sliding his cheek along Caspar’s to whisper in his ear, “Go clean up.”

The way Caspar shuddered before him would surely stay with Linhardt until the day he died, and Caspar scampered out of bed for the bathroom. Linhardt settled back into bed, idly stroking his stomach, and the next thing he knew, Caspar’s laughter was echoing from the hallway. 

Felix must have been awake. Not out of worry nor jealousy, Linhardt gathered the covers around himself and stood up. The notion of payback tickled a petty little part of him, and he opened his door. 

Everything made sense once he saw not just Felix but Sylvain too, standing closer to each other than ever before. It was a touching scene to be sure, but if Linhardt didn’t get his hands on Caspar soon he was going to combust, so he shooed them away. 

Caspar shut the door behind him and wasted no time losing his towel. In time, Linhardt would study him and learn his every contour, but right now all he wanted was to feel Caspar in his hands, his mouth. 

Just like his fantasies—better—Caspar didn’t mind Linhardt’s slow pace one bit. He didn’t hold back, either; screams and yells poured out of his mouth unchecked as Linhardt prepared him. The internet could only teach Linhardt so much; he learned better by watching Caspar, talking to him, listening to the sounds he made.

That wasn’t all he learned. Linhardt didn’t expect Caspar’s silent reverence when he was the one doing the touching. He worshipped Linhardt’s body, tasting every inch of skin with devout focus. All ten fingers and all ten toes took a turn in his mouth—Linhardt should have known Caspar would have an oral fixation. 

When he seemed satisfied, at least for the moment, he lifted his neck to look at Linhardt and said, “I stole a condom from Felix’s room last night.”

“Good boy,” said Linhardt. That shiver stuck with him, too, and he made sure to praise Caspar with words and kisses every step of the way. All of it was genuine—not just because Caspar was way better at sex than he was. 

Too easily, Linhardt’s mind sprinted ahead of his body. He could picture Caspar riding him until they both came undone, Caspar thrusting deep inside him as fast as he could, and maybe, someday, possibly while high, jackhammering Caspar from behind until neither of them could see. 

All in due time. Linhardt pulled himself back to reality and tried his best to make Caspar feel good in that moment, whispering affirmations and rolling his hips until Caspar was coming and calling out his name. Linhardt pushed in deep as cathartic pleasure and love overwhelmed him, and he finished with a soft cry of his own. 

Clean sweat and sex filled Linhardt’s nose as he came down, holding Caspar’s arms tight, forehead resting on his shoulder. 

“I love you,” said Caspar as Linhardt pulled out. 

“That was even better than I thought it would be,” he gushed as Linhardt tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash with the dirty tissue ashes. 

“I can’t wait to do it again,” he went on as Linhardt lay back down where the sheets weren’t wet. 

“Mmm,” was all Linhardt could muster in return. 

“But I’m gonna let you nap first.” Caspar pressed a kiss to Linhardt’s forehead and grabbed one of their towels to wipe Linhardt’s stomach, then his own. 

“Good boy,” Linhardt mumbele. He’d work on his stamina for Caspar, but afterglow hummed a lullaby so sweet, not even his libido could resist it. 

“I’m going for a run!” Caspar announced. “Taking your keys. Be right back!”

Their new chapter, much like the one before, started with a bang: Caspar accidentally slamming the door behind him. This time, Linhardt didn’t even stir. He just smiled in his sleep, adrift on endless, sparkling waves of blue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I changed the title! Hopefully that wasn't too confusing, I just didn't love the other title. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading this story! I think _When Linhardt woke up in a puddle of chili cheese chip drool on Caspar’s sweaty nipple, he wondered, for a moment, if he was still high_ is the best line I've written in a long time.


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